


Glittery

by gayprentiss



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Begging, Brief Alcohol Mention, F/F, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Oral Sex, Smut, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, Valentine's day CRAFTING!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayprentiss/pseuds/gayprentiss
Summary: In which Emily and Penelope are crafting for Valentine's Day, and some feelings come up
Relationships: Penelope Garcia & Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Glittery

“You’re more glittery than normal,” Emily remarks, pushing Penelope’s front door open and surveying the scene in front of her.

“You’re here!” Penelope scrambles to get out of her chair, pushing away from the kitchen table that’s covered in shimmery pinks, reds, purples, and rushing to wrap her arms around Emily’s waist. To free her arms and return Penelope’s hug, Emily sets her plastic grocery bag onto the counter. The cheap bottles of wine inside clink against each other musically, making Penelope’s ears perk up and gesture towards the bag.

Emily launches into a retelling of her time at the grocery store: There was a weird woman there who Emily was exactly 73 percent sure was following her. As she tells the story, she flits around Penelope’s kitchen with ease, finding the bottle opener and two stemmed glasses. Penelope watches her intently, entranced by her black-cat movements. It’s not lost on her how easily Emily makes use of her space. Penelope’s space, that is. Emily is here, in her kitchen, popping a cork---two corks, she’d bought pink wine specifically for Penelope--and washing her hands and drying said hands on her tea towels and lounging against her countertops, mindful of her cluttered space and figurines. It’s domestic. It’s _domestic and overwhelming_ and Penelope just might burst. 

“Anyways,” Emily says, concluding her story and turning back to Penelope, glass looped languidly between her fingers. “ _Why_ are you covered in craft glitter?”

“We, my friend, are making Valentine’s Day cards,” Penelope says.

“Alright,” Emily hums, taking a seat at the end of the table. “I’m not very crafty.”

“I am! I’ll teach you.”

\- - - -

“Pass me the scissors, please,” Penelope requests. Careful of the blade, Emily reaches across the table to hand Penelope the glue-sticky scissors. After Penelope’s careful tutorial on how to cut a _perfect_ heart and administer the _perfect_ amount of campy shimmer, the room fell silent save for the jazzy music playing in the background--Amy Winehouse, at Emily’s request--and the soft sounds of crafting--snip, paste, glitter, repeat. Snip, paste, glitter, repeat. Snip. Paste. Glitter. Repeat.

Emily pauses her routine of gluing a piece of red cardstock to a pink one. She’d been considering her next question carefully, debating whether she wants to ask it at all. “Who are you making these valentines for, anyways?” Attempting nonchalance, she takes a sip of her wine. 

Penelope can read Emily like a book. Not even looking up from her homemade card, maintaining Emily’s same nonchalance, Penelope replies, “Why does it matter? You have a crush on me or something?”

_Obviously_ Emily has a crush on her.

Penelope knows.

She’s known since a few months ago, on a random Thursday, when Emily had shyly brought a cup of coffee into her office. Penelope had never seen Emily at a loss for words before, but she was just so _anxious_ about if she’d gotten the right coffee order. Penelope’s definitely not a profiler, but it really didn’t take much to figure out the strange blush on Emily’s cheeks. Thank god she did, too, because Penelope was just about making herself sick pining after Emily. She’s had a thing for her for as long as she could remember; since Emily had settled herself into the BAU all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. And then Penelope had discovered _reciprocation_ of those feelings and her heart soared and she just wanted to wrap her arms around Emily and fucking _kiss her_.

But they’re still doing the “best friends” thing. God, does Penelope just want to stop this whole stupid back and forth act where they both pretend like they’re just _best friends._ But she’s playing hard-to-get. Too often had she given herself away too soon just to be let down later. So she’s keeping the upper hand on this one, because it matters. Emily matters.

And on an _entirely_ separate note, watching Emily flounder and figure out Penelope’s feelings for herself is quite entertaining. Penelope only feels a tiny bit bad about that. 

“No, I’m just curious,” Emily says carefully, teetering into defensiveness. She continues gluing her cardstock, letting the sound of her dragging the paste across the paper serve as an ending to the conversation.

“No?” There’s a playful lilt to Penelope’s voice, but Emily is _embarrassed_ she asked and quite frankly, done talking about it. The air thickens, and Penelope doesn’t feel much like joking anymore.

“No.”

There’s a few moments of silence. Amy Winehouse croons, Penelope presses a marker across her Valentine, scrawling a message onto it. Emily’s scowl radiates through the room.

“You’re a big baby, Emily Prentiss,” Penelope says bluntly.

Emily sets her glue stick onto the table, crossing her arms around her chest and leaning back in her chair. “How am I a baby?” Her words are calm, careful.

With a dramatic sigh, Penelope holds up the Valentine she’d been working on for the greater part of an hour. She could hear Emily building her walls up and she’s _tired_ of all of that. The card is beautiful, _obviously,_ having been carefully crafted under Penelope’s skillful hand. “Emily” is written in shimmery purple bubble letters, surrounded by little hand drawn hearts. There’s a lengthy message attached, heartfelt and sincere.

“The valentines are for you, you beautiful, _oblivious_ disaster,” Penelope says. “ _Everything_ is for you.”

Emily purses her lips to avoid the smile from creeping onto her face.

It doesn’t work.

“Oh.” She pauses to think, replaying every interaction she shared with Penelope for the past few months and reframing them. Penelope likes her back. She feels a touch stupid for not figuring it out, but excitement prevails over that emotion. “Yeah?”

Penelope huffs. “Just kiss me, please.” Emily didn’t really need it spelled out for her, because that was her next move, but she appreciates the proactivity from Penelope.

With renewed gusto and pull, Emily leans back in her chair, patting her lap. “C’mere, then.” With a squeal, Penelope gets up out of her chair and skips-- _literally_ skips--the short distance to Emily’s side of the table. Emily is looking at her like she hung the stars as Penelope swings her leg over her lap.

“Hi,” Penelope says, holding Emily’s shoulders tightly to steady herself. She’s suddenly nervous, despite all of the frustration and excitement she’d been channeling into this conversation just a second ago. Tentatively, she trails the pad of her thumb down Emily’s nose, letting it fall to her bottom lip.

Emily just wants to look at her, for a second, her rosy cheeks and gentle gaze. But one more second without kissing Penelope is far too long and before Emily’s brain can catch up with her chin, she’s leaning in to press her lips against Penelope’s. 

They’ve both _clearly_ been anticipating this, as they move in sync like they were made to kiss each other, as if their lips were crafted specifically to be against each other in this exact moment. It feels like hours that they’re kissing, that Emily is tugging on the roots of Penelope’s hair, that Penelope is leaving careful bruises against Emily’s jaw.

Once Emily is sufficiently out of breath, she pulls away and rests her forehead against Penelope’s. “Let me eat you out, please,” she requests quietly, trying to catch a bit of air.

Penelope nods, rapidly. “Oh my god, yes, yes,” she says, giggling softly. “You don’t even have to ask, seriously. Okay, yes you do. You _do_ have to ask, but I will always say yes.” 

Emily cuts off Penelope’s rambling with a hot “shhh,” and a suggestive tug on the hem of her skirt.

Penelope blushes, unzipping the pink dress on her side and lifting it over her head.

“You’re matching,” Emily notes lamely. It would be quite literally impossible for her to come up with a sufficient compliment for the way Penelope looks in her lacy, red set. So she gapes, feeling utterly grateful for the chance to even be in the presence of this sun of a woman.

“I had plans,” Penelope says through a grin, standing from Emily’s lap. Wordlessly, with Emily still staring indecently at Penelope’s tits in that bra, they switch spots, Penelope now sitting in the kitchen chair with her legs spread. Emily lowers herself onto her knees in front of Penelope, rubbing soft circles into her skin. She runs her finger along Penelope’s heat, sighing gently at the wetness seeping through the fabric. “You’re so wet for me,” Emily says, peering up at Penelope, who has already settled in and closed her eyes.

“Mhm,” Penelope replies, shifting her hips up in order to shimmy her underwear down her legs.

Emily kisses across the expanse of Penelope’s stomach, taking a moment to rest her chin on the soft skin and look up at the woman in front of her. “You’re so pretty,” she murmurs. “Look at this pretty pussy.”

Penelope lets out an embarrassed whine, nudging Emily’s cheek with her knuckles.

“Keep going, okay, I get it,” Emily chuckles, half to herself. Penelope’s eyelids flutter closed, her fingers tangle in Emily’s hair. It’s soft and for half of a second Penelope wonders _what shampoo does she use?_ , but then Emily is licking and kissing and _biting_ and Penelope’s brain has been reduced to that damned purple glitter and she feels like it might be pouring out of her ears.

When Penelope’s usually getting head, once every few months, Penelope is acutely aware of where her thighs rest, careful to keep them open and away from her suitors’ ears, but Emily is clutching the outside of them like a castaway holds a buoy, tugging her closer. It makes Penelope impossibly more wet. There’s a gasp that could have come from either of them as Emily drags her tongue flat across Penelope’s slit.

Penelope squirms under Emily’s mouth as she continues her careful, skillful tongue work. “‘S good, Emmy, so good,” she moans. Egged on by the praise, Emily wraps her lips around Penelope’s clit, making Penelope emit a high-pitched noise. Emily chuckles against her skin, pulling away to pepper gentle kisses along her thigh.

“Hey,” Penelope pouts at the lack of contact. “C’mon, Em, you’re so mean,”

“I’m mean?” Emily asks with a raised eyebrow, looking up at Penelope through her lashes. “If I’m so mean I’ll leave you here high and dry begging to cum, then.”

This time the gasp is definitely Penelope, scandalized and not used to being told no. Her hips buck forward on their own accord, aching for Emily’s touch. “That’s not fair,” she whines.

Emily taps Penelope’s knees, signaling for her to close them. “Life isn’t fair, sweet girl.”

Penelope weighs her options in her head. It’s clear what Emily wants to hear--begging. But god, if it’s not in Penelope’s nature to put up a fight. She’s contemplating, trying to ignore her lower half twitching in desperation. The moment seems longer than it is--after about 10 seconds and Emily wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she begins grovelling.

“ _Please_ Emmy, please,” she says, “I’ll do anything, just...please.” When Emily doesn’t react immediately, Penelope tacks on an extra, “ _Pretty_ please.”

Emily grins, leaning back in and pressing a delicate kiss just to the left of where Penelope needs her. “You’re a good girl, baby,” she mumbles under her breath.

“Mhm,” Penelope agrees quietly, letting her hands settle back onto the crown of Emily’s head. The pair devolve into a rhythmic sound of Emily’s mouth and tiny subsequent moans from Penelope. As Emily speeds up, so do Penelope’s whines, so does the rise and fall of Penelope’s chest.

There’s not much build up before Penelope’s snapping, she finds. One second she’s reveling in the feeling of Emily’s warm mouth working her up, and the next her legs are tensing and she’s shaking through an intense wave of orgasm, pushing Emily’s head from where she’s most sensitive.

Emily grins, pressing a sweet kiss to Penelope’s knee, waiting for her to calm and recover. “You’re like, really good at that,” Penelope says with a wide smile, her glassy eyes filled with satiation. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Emmy.”

Emily rises to kiss Penelope softly, swiping her tongue over her bottom lip. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this (!!) come hang out with me on Tumblr @gayprentiss for more fun CM content :))))


End file.
